


a thousand lights (in the dead of night)

by blackorchids



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Bad Communication, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Dubious Consent, Edgeplay, Enemies to Lovers, Escape, F/M, Hair Washing, Malfoy Manor, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Oral Sex, Prisoner Luna Lovegood, Prisoner of War, Rare Pairings, References to Torture, Rough Sex, Seduction as Interrogation Method, Seduction to the Dark Side, Slow Burn, Smutty Claus 2019, Under-negotiated Kink, Underage Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:49:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22147450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackorchids/pseuds/blackorchids
Summary: Draco is given the laughable task of trying to get information from Luna Lovegood. He is determined to gain her trust, however he can.
Relationships: Luna Lovegood/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 77
Collections: Smutty Claus Exchange





	a thousand lights (in the dead of night)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xenadragon_xoxo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenadragon_xoxo/gifts).



> Uh this is not as dark as I had intended but hopefully you still like it! Title from the incredible song, _Stadium of Light_ by Aiden Jude and Vassy
> 
> Written and cross-posted for the final Smutty Claus exchange over on lj! [Here](https://smutty-claus.livejournal.com/) is the link to the forum, and [here](https://smutty-claus.livejournal.com/289593.html) is the link to this story specifically!

Draco had seen Lovegood’s stupid magazine floating around the corridors, Gryffindors passing them around as surripitously as Gryffindors were able to. Every morning Snape had the Carrows tasked with taking down the Pro-Potter propaganda that had _mysteriously_ shown up over the night, and every evening there were weary, teary-eyed kids rushing back to their common rooms after detention with the Carrows.

So when he’s home for the winter holiday and seriously not expecting to be able to go back after the new year, finding out that they’d laid waste to the Lovegood tower despite their blood status was only a little shocking.

More shocking is the girl younger than him who was being tortured on the table in front of them like a sick New Years’ Eve entertainment event. Her grey eyes glassy with tears and her voice so broken from screaming that noise no longer comes out. She’s given them nothing, hasn’t responded to taunts of her father or questions about Potter’s plans, and since it’s clear that she’s been here for quite a while, Draco has to work to keep the impressed look off his face.

When they’ve finished with dinner, Avery tells Wormtail to _get rid of the girl_ and the creepy little man awkwardly levitates her out of the room and then Draco becomes aware of eyes on him.

“She was a classmate of yours, yes?” Mulciber asks in that way that suggests he’s not expecting an answer. Still, when he glances at Aunt Bella, she nods at him to reply.

“Year below me,” He corrects in his most placid voice and his mother is lucky she already has a reputation for being squeamish, because she gasps at this information. Aunt Bella giggles, delighted at her sister’s response, but Mulciber isn’t done.

“Maybe a friendly face will get more information out of her,” he says, mouth curling on a smile that almost sends shivers down Draco’s spine. A few of the other Death Eaters hoot and cackle and make comments that would have him blushing if he wasn’t used to the kind of crude language they preferred by now. As it is, he can’t manage to look his mother in the eye, but in his efforts to avoid her gaze, he catches Aunt Bella’s instead, who smirks at him.

He turns red, the language gets worse, and it’s immediately clear to him that this sort of _assignment_ is not a serious one: they are not expecting him to get any information out of the Lovegood girl and only mean to embarrass him and maybe test him.

This time, he doesn’t respond, but he’s already trying to come up with a plan that will prove them wrong. He will have to play this very, very carefully.

His first step is to take over bringing the Lovegood girl her meals, telling Gibby, the house elf in charge, that he’d take care of it. She does not look at him when he comes down. He brings her the standard bread and water only twice before he starts to add anything else he can get away with sneaking onto her tray: cheese, salted meats, and, once, a small piece of chocolate. He’s been bringing her meals for two weeks and cannot detect any change in the hollowness of her cheeks and the jagged collar bones protruding from her stained school shirt. He wonders how she’s managing to get the food to the other prisoners when she’s currently being held separately from them.

Once in a while, he asks her about the other students that she’d been friends with at school, wonders openly about Potter’s plans. She doesn’t ever tell him anything important, but they do occasionally share a few words about other, non-war related topics.

One morning when he goes down, no longer regarded with suspicion when she spots him, he notices a fresh bruise on the side of her face and her lip is newly split and bloody and he wonders which of the men living in his house had come down to take some of their frustrations out on her.

At lunch, he hides a tiny vial of dittany inside the roll on her plate, but when he comes down with her dinner, long after the sky has blackened and the moon has risen, his suspicions are correct—further down the basement, Ollivander’s wheezing cough has subsided some. As though someone has given him dittany for his broken ribs.

Draco sets the tray down and pushes it through the opening beneath the cell door, but he does not immediately take his leave, and the girl’s eyes, always foggy and distant, settle on him with an unnerving amount of clarity.

“This one is for _you_ ,” Draco tells her, pulling the second vial of dittany from the hiding spot within his robes. He pulls it away when she reaches for it and decidedly does not flinch when her gaze turns flinty. Instead, he beccons her closer and, through the bars in the door, he reaches one hand towards her face, hesitating before making contact, and tilts her head until he can see her lip, puffy and gashed well past the corner of her mouth, and he uses his free hand to drip the dittany onto the wound himself, watching the skin knit back together with some satisfaction.

There’s still a few drops left in the vial that is smaller than his littlest finger, and he knows the next step. She had been silent when her injury had painfully healed beneath the dittany, but now she gasps quite genuinely when he closes her fingers around the vial and what is left of the stuff. She tilts her head to study him once more, openly curious, and Draco takes his leave, knows he’s succeeding.

She might not trust him yet, but she will soon enough.

After that night, he starts handing her things from the tray through the bars, making sure to let his touch linger, letting his gaze be obvious as he scans her for any new injuries and hurts. Once, when he opens the door to go down, noise that had been going on falls quiet quite abruptly, and when the girl catches sight of him, she calls out to the others, “It’s okay! It’s only Draco.” The noise starts up again, though it is still quieter, and Draco realises they’re singing something, one of the prisoners knocking a low, steady beat into the floor.

“Are you doing okay?” He asks her quietly, more comfortable now that he knows the others will not hear him over their prisoners’ music. This time, it is her who reaches between the bars to grasp at his hand, and she gives him a small smile as she curls her fingers around his.

“We are survivors,” She tells him frankly, and he makes himself run a thumb over her bruised knuckles, pleased when she shivers a little.

The next night, he kisses her. And in the morning, when some snarl-faced Death Eater remembers that Draco is meant to be getting information from the _little girl_ they have down in the cellar, he’s able to smirk and play the sleazy part they’re not expecting him to play, tells them that she trusts him now and lets the intonation of his words speak lies they’re eager to believe.

Several men his father’s age ruffle his hair or pound him on the back and everything about it makes disgust curdle low in his belly, but Draco is good at playing this game now.

When most of the men leave to go torture muggles and hunt the missing members of the Order, he goes up to his room, it is only years of etiquette training that keeps him from stumbling over his own feet when he spies her, hogtied and gagged, eyes leaking tears, on the carpet in front of his bed.

Draco closes his door at a very normal speed, extremely aware that they are always being watched, and then he rushes to her, wand out and nonverbal _diffindo_ already severing the bindings as he pulls the gag from her mouth and scrapes her hair from her face in the same jerky gesture. As soon as her hands are free, she’s pushing herself up on her knees and he moves a little out of her space so she can fully straighten up.

Steeling his spine, he sways back into her space and brushes a kiss, gentle as he can, against her scraped-up temple.

He thinks about the fragile trust he’s gotten from her and hustles her over to his ensuite and shows her where the clean towels are and draws a bath, using his wand to get the water steaming and purple with soap. She leaves her filthy clothes in a pile on the floor and he has Gibby take them away for cleaning.

Lovegood stays in the tub long through the night, eyes fluttering closed when he comes in to reheat the water, and he helps her pour water over her hair, grabbing a thick comb and brushing it through, watching as the grime in her hair slowly gets washed out, returning to the pale yellow he remembers from their youth.

When he’s finished with her hair, he cleans the water and leaves, letting her have some time to herself. In his room, he fights his way through shuddering breathing patterns and trying to calm his racing heart, thinks about his mother’s tiny, petrified gasp when he’d told the table of cackling men that the girl being tortured in front of them all was younger than he.

For a single minute, he stares blankly out his window at the darkened Malfoy Manor grounds, feeling about a thousand years old. He gets himself under control when he hears her finally clamor out of the tub, and he knows he looks placid when she comes out, wrapped in a thick, fluffy towel, long hair slung over one shoulder and dripping a little.

Draco lets his eyes rove over her figure, tries to look interested without being lascivious, feels something swoop in his belly when her lips curl upwards a little, even as she flushes at his attention.

She walks to him, bare feet silent on his hardwood floor, but he is the one to tip her chin up with two fingers and press a halting kiss to her mouth. He curls a palm over the smooth skin of her shoulder, feeling her shudder against him.

She digs her fingers into his shoulder blades and lurches up on her toes so she can kiss him deeper, tongue sliding against his lower lip and he backs up, letting himself fall onto the bed, legs sprawled open so she can stand in between them, hands on his knees as she pushes closer to him, towel slipping almost too low.

She pushes him back, watches him scoot further onto the bed, meets his gaze and lets the towel drop. 

Lovegood settles atop his narrow hips, only the thin fabric of his sleep pants separating them, and she scrapes her palms up his bare chest, giving the scars left from Potter’s curse only the briefest passing glance. When she gets to his shoulders, she swoops down, the curtain of her damp hair shielding their faces from the rest of the room as she kisses him deeply.

Draco gets swept up into it for long minutes, curling his hands around her ribs and feeling the steady motion of her breath beneath his fingers and tilting his head up to get a closer angle, his pulse pounding in his ears.

He’s hard and straining in his pants and when she sweeps her thumbs over his jaw, too painfully intimate, he remembers abruptly that she is a prisoner in his home and they are on opposite sides of the war. He rolls them so that she is cushioned amongst his sheets, pale yellow hair fanned around her face, grey eyes watching him curiously.

Lacing his fingers through hers, he pushes her hands up, up, up until they are above her head, hidden beneath his pillows in a façade of a restraint. She’s blushing when he meets her gaze again, but when he releases her wrists, she leaves them there, her chest heaving, dusky pink nipples pebbling under his gaze. 

Her too-empty stomach quivers when he brushes the knuckles of one hand over it, and he curls a palm over the jut of her hip, using his elbow and his other hand to knock her legs apart, gripping her thighs hard and leaving her exposed.

Nothing left to do, he ducks down to get his mouth on one nipple, curling the point of his tongue around the peak before sucking hard enough that she gasps. He scrapes his teeth down her stomach following the path of his hands earlier, and then he’s facing her cunt, spread out in front of him like a forbidden meal and before he can think too much about it he fits his tongue over her clit, circling her entrance with the tip of one finger and marveling at how wet she already is.

Draco pushes one finger into her as he sucks at her, and holds her down firmly by the hips with his free hand, using her gasps and shudders as indicators. He gives her a few minutes of repeated motion before he pulls out and pushes back inside with two fingers this time, feels how tight she is just with this, curls them upwards and reveling in the fine tremors running through her thighs.

He fucks his fingers in and out as closely in sync with his tongue on her clit as he can get, glances up briefly to take in her face, sweaty at the temples and flushed down her chest, waits until she’s grinding against his hand and his wrist is starting to hurt before he pulls away completely, doesn’t let her come.

He gets a hand around his cock, straining and leaking a little at the tip and pushes into her a little unceremoniously, watches the bob of her neck as she swallows, can feel the effort she’s taking into leaving her arms stretched above her head, and he presses his fingers into her hip before skating them down her thigh so he can pull her leg up a little higher, hooking her knee loosely around his side.

Draco fucks her hard and fast, but she’s no slouch, meeting his every thrust and clenching around him and he’s panting hard when he feels her start to tremble. He stops quite abruptly, stills inside her and listening to her breath hitch when the crest she’s heading towards stalls out.

It takes a minute for her to realize that he’s not just teasing, and her eyes open, a little hazy, a little frustration already sharpening the turn of her mouth. He pulls out and settles atop her once more, kisses her roughly and feels her hips cant against his thigh, looking for purchase and relief.

He takes her to the edge twice more, squeezing the base of his cock to keep from coming, waits until her hair is curling at her temples, little bits of it sticking to her neck and forehead and she’s pink and trembling from the wait. The sheen of sweat at his back is cooling and it makes him shiver a little.

“Draco,” she finally gasps, spine arching so she can press her chest against his, their stomachs sticking together a little. “Draco, _please_.”

The intimacy of her plea burns across his chest and down his spine, the trust in her eyes as she beseeches him sending a little thrill of triumph racing through his bloodstream. He’d be willing to put money on the fact that, should he ask anything of her later, she would tell him what she knew.

He plunges back into her in one clean stroke, muscles sore from their extended workout. When she pulls her arms from under the pillow to wrap around his neck, fingers digging into his shoulders, he can’t even feign displeasure, too dizzy with the effort of keeping the pace of his thumb on her clit steady enough that she will come before him.  
She does, though just barely, holding him inside of her with her knees and spasming around him, her head thrown back and her muffled noise breaking in the middle, a silent scream ripped from her throat. He scrapes his teeth down the exposed column of her pale neck, vision blacking out a little at the edges with the effort of trying not to come before she’s finished, and when her knees relax a little, it’s only two more strokes before he pushes into her and his orgasm is torn from him so roughly that he thinks he whites out a little in the middle there.

It’s all he can do to collapse mostly next to her instead of crushing her slender body with his own, and he falls asleep to the sensation of her long fingers scraping through his hair in a soothing, repeated motion.

He wakes up alone.

**Author's Note:**

> uh, rare pair ftw?? come talk to me on [tumblr](http://.www.rosalinesbenvolio.tumblr.com)!!


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